


Bump and Grind

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Club Sex, M/M, Mpreg, Semipublic Sex, Snarry-A-Thon Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love, lust, and everything in between, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bump and Grind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accioslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioslash/gifts).



> **Beta:** eeyore9990
> 
>  **A/N:** Once upon a time, I offered to write accioslash a story for her birthday. Somehow, I ended up writing a Snarry-A-Thon entry to Prompt #14: Harry is drawn to a dark, mysterious man in a gay pub and he loses his virginity during what he thinks will be a one-night stand.

The club was full of shadows and flashing lights. The air smelled of sweat, chemicals, drinks, and sex. Men crowded the dance floor, indistinguishable, unidentifiable. Occasionally one or two were picked out by a random spotlight, given their moment of fame, and then absorbed once again by the heaving mass.

The lights never found Harry Potter. His modified Notice-Me-Not charm hid him from the few wizards who strayed out of the Wizarding World. As for the Muggle men, only those he touched and acknowledged could see his face as he twirled and writhed and undulated amongst them.

Muggles were safe, he'd discovered. Most of them weren't interested in anything permanent — no bonding ceremony or vault-sharing and definitely no bleating to Skeeter and her cronies. They were only interested in a quick grope on the dance floor, a blowjob in one of the back rooms, or on rare occasions, a trip back to theirs for a one-off.

Not that he'd ever found anyone he'd be willing to have shag him. With a sigh, Harry ducked away from the men who'd been fondling him, leaving them to each other, and began the slow trek towards the bar. He needed a drink and possibly a bit of something else if he was going to finish out the night there.

He'd nearly extricated himself from the dancers when someone splayed a hand over his chest and hauled him backwards, slamming his back against a long, hard body. Lips placed themselves against his ear and a deep voice asked, "Leaving so soon?"

His body prickling with goosebumps, feeling chilled despite the sweat and heat, Harry leaned against the man behind him. He rolled his hips and smiled when a gratifying hardness pressed into his arse. "Can't see how that's a problem for you."

"Can't you?" The man sounded amused. "That mistaken impression requires correction."

Uneven teeth scraped across the shell of Harry's ear and sent a tingling sensation all the way down to his cock. The hand on his chest slid up, dragging Harry's shirt with it, and a pair of thin fingers tweaked his nipple. A shiver went through him, and he reached up and wound his arms around the man's neck to keep from sagging.

"That's... encouraging." Harry turned his head and took a deep breath. Despite wearing long sleeves, the man wasn't sweating. He smelled familiar, safe, but somehow unrecognisable. Harry licked the man's neck, tasting him. That same elusive scent teased at the edges of Harry's memory, but he was unable to connect it with anyone he knew.

"I'll endeavour to improve, then."

The man placed the heel of his other hand low on Harry's hip. The side of his thumb lay next to Harry's cock. His fingertips massaged the muscles of Harry's inner thigh, moving in time to the pounding bass that reverberated through the dance floor. It wasn't quite enough, though, and Harry began undulating to the beat.

"Yes," the man hissed, extending the sibilant.

People moved around them. Men in tight clothes, in women's clothes, but for once, Harry paid them no attention. Every part of him was focussed on the man who held him. He writhed against the barely moving body behind him, and his partner's hands tantalised and toyed. None of his previous experience, no blowjob or frantic rub-off had prepared him for this man. Harry's cock had barely been stroked, and he was ready to spread his legs and bend over. He'd have worried about whether the man was aroused, if it weren't for the erect cock rubbing against the cleft of his arse and the increasingly hoarse and heavy breathing in his ear.

The music blurred, mixed, and became a slow, hypnotic beat — the rhythm of foreplay rather than full-on sex — and the man's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of Harry's loose trousers. Touching — oh Merlin, _touching_ — Harry's cock.

"Yes," Harry said to the question that hadn't been asked. "Yes," he repeated, using his own hands to push the man's further down. He began to dance again in a pale imitation of sex, rotating his hips, rubbing himself against those hands, grinding himself back against that cock. Slow and sensual, like the music, until every breath came hard and heavy, and he could feel the muscles of his arse twitch and flutter with need.

The music paused, there was a single thump of bass and another pause, and Harry blinked. They'd moved without him really noticing, into a dark alcove off the dance floor. It smelled of musk and sex and men, and his breath caught in the back of his throat. "Yes," he said again, his voice barely recognisable, even to himself.

Fingers trailed across the bare skin above Harry's low-slung trousers, dipping into his cleft. Harry raised himself on his tiptoes. The fingers slid lower, touched the edge of his hole, and pressed against the muscle.

Harry groaned and twisted, trying to get those fingers where he wanted them. His hair was caught in the man's other hand, his head pulled back, and teeth grazed their way down his neck.

The volume increased, the beat seeming to match that of Harry's heart, as his trousers were undone and shoved down to his ankles. The fingers left, and his hair was released. He moaned his objections, and the finger returned, slick and wet, and pushed inside him.

"Ahhhh." Harry breathed out, reminded himself that it wouldn't keep hurting, and widened his stance. A firm hand on his lower back encouraged him to lean forward and brace himself against the wall in front of him.

The finger twisted and turned, thrust in and out, skated over his prostate. The music pounded beneath his hands and into him. There was a second finger and then a third. Those wicked lips sucked on the skin behind his ear. That tall, thin body was so close that Harry could feel the heat coming off it.

Then the song changed, became quieter and slower, and the fingers pulled out. His hands still vibrating, his ears ringing, Harry demanded, "More."

The man's cock felt thicker than his fingers, but not unbearably so. Harry pushed his arse backwards, sighing when it was spread open, and the cock slid inside.

It burned, it filled him, and he was about to say something, when the man said, "Relax."

Closing his eyes, Harry released a long, humming breath. A firm grip on his hips guided his arse backwards, encouraging him to push down.

The music merged into a familiar, irresistible tune. Harry rocked back and forth — in time to the music, in counterpoint to the man behind him.

The beat slowed again, but they danced faster. His partner slammed in and out. Fingers plucked at his nipples, He leaned back, wanting more, to feel more. Seeming to read his mind, the man pressed up behind him, grasped Harry's cock, and tugged.

Harry spiralled higher and higher, rising up on his toes, losing himself to the rhythm as he pulsed his release. Seconds later he was held tightly as his partner came.

They stood there, panting for breath. Harry crossed his arms over his chest and gripped the strong arms that surrounded him. Far too soon, his partner extricated himself and pulled Harry's pants and trousers up, tucking Harry's cock away carefully as he fastened them.

His head bowed and his body swaying slowly, Harry continued to face the wall. After a few seconds, long enough for the man to decide whether he wanted to stay or go, Harry spun around. He was alone.

Doing his best to ignore the squishy feeling in his arse and to resist the urge to limp, he made his way back across the dance floor and out of the club. Eyes were watching him, he was sure of that, but he didn't look around or do anything to identify their owner. If the man had wanted Harry to know who he was, he'd have offered his name.

* * * * *

Well-hidden by the shadows and the large hyperactive party at the table in front of him, Severus Snape watched Harry Potter leave the club. He'd approached Potter on the spur of the moment; the result had been far more than he'd ever imagined.

However, rather than satisfying Severus's curiosity and desire, the sex had merely whetted his appetite. Disconcerted by the realisation, Severus scowled at the spotty teenager who'd almost stumbled over his feet.

He ignored the twink's stuttered apologies as he swept towards the back rooms. Statute of Secrecy bedamned; he was not exiting through the front door where anyone loitering on the street might see him.

* * * * *

"It was utterly fascinating," Hermione said. Her eyes were gleaming with the same avarice the goblins showed when Harry deposited money in his vault. "I've never seen a man with nipples like—"

"Do you mind," Ron interrupted her, his fork paused midway between his plate and his mouth, "some of us non-Healer types are trying to eat here."

She huffed. "Honestly, I'd think you'd be interested in something that could save your life one of these days. You are, aren't you, Harry?"

"Erm... yeah. Breast cancer. Bad." Harry bit the inside of his lip as his gesture caused the stitching on his t-shirt to scratch over his sore nipples.

"Exactly. I'd think any man would want to know how to examine his brea—"

"Merlin, Hermione, give it a rest, all right?" Ron dropped his fork, splattering tomato sauce over the table. "I'm all for learning to prevent my untimely death, but I'm nowhere near seventy. Besides, neither Harry nor I are going to die any faster if you wait until after we've finished eating."

"I'd like you to teach me," Harry said quickly, before Hermione and Ron's disagreement escalated into yet another fight. They'd only just started talking to each other again after using him as a go-between for the past few weeks.

Hermione gave him one of those looks, the kind that saw right through him, and she nodded briskly. "I'm on nights this week. We can go back to your place after lunch, if you've got time."

"So you're just going to let me die, then?" Ron frowned. "That hardly seems fair. It's not my fault I have to work on a Saturday."

"You're mental, you know that, mate?" Harry snickered.

Reaching over and patting his hand, Hermione said, "I'd hardly want to deprive the world of the inventor of Mischievous Mints, now would I?"

For a minute, Harry thought Ron was going to take offense, but then he grinned and picked his fork back up. "Brilliant, those are. One of our best sellers."

The rest of lunch went by much faster than Harry wanted. He picked at his sesame chicken salad, scraping the seeds off and nibbling on tiny bits of meat. Ron didn't seem to notice that Harry wasn't contributing much to the conversation, as he extolled the virtues of the latest Wheezes. Hermione, on the other hand, just wouldn't stop glancing at him.

At least she kept her mouth shut until they got back to his flat. Not that that was much consolation, he thought, when she turned on him as soon as the door was closed behind them.

"Show me," she said, not even taking time to unfasten her cardigan.

Harry took a step backwards and held up his hands. "I don't know what—"

"Don't bother, Harry Potter." She pulled her wand out of its holster and advanced on him. "You're going to show me what's got you flinching every time you move, and you're going to do it _now_!" Her voice rose on the last word.

To his shock, all of the fear that had been chasing him through his dreams came back and made his eyes burn. He squeezed his eyes closed and reached for the top button of his shirt.

Her touch and her voice were gentle as she moved his hands aside and said, "Let's go into the bathroom where the light's better."

He let Hermione guide him there, barely able to open his eyes much more than a slit. Once in the bathroom, he sat down on the toilet and let her undo his shirt. A quiet spell removed the plasters he'd placed over his nipples in the forlorn hope that they would protect his skin against accidental touches.

"Oh, Harry," she said, when his sore, swollen nipples were exposed. "How long have you been worrying about this?"

"Weeks," he croaked, forcing himself to look at her. The sympathy on her face almost destroyed what was left of his control. "How... how bad?"

Giving him a smile that was clearly forced, she stroked his face. "It's not breast cancer, if that's what you're thinking."

A wave of relief swamped him, and he swayed. "Then what?"

"Just a sec, all right?" She flicked her wand and murmured a word that sent pale yellow light washing over his stomach. The light collected into a single point and turned into a light blue colour. Hermione's smile brightened. "Definitely not cancer."

The English translation of the word she'd used burst across Harry's mind like fireworks. "Pregnant?" He gaped at her. "But he was a Muggle."

Her headshake was slow but definite. "He couldn't have been." She reached into the bag that she'd placed on the sink and pulled out a phial.

As she smoothed the potion over his aching nipples, the elusive scent that had haunted Harry's dreams ever since that night at the club suddenly had a name. As did the wizard who wore it like cologne. "That fucking bastard. I'm going to slaughter him."

"Who?"

Bringing his hands up to cradle his nipples, Harry said, "God, I was stupid, assuming he was a Muggle."

"Harry?" Hermione tipped his chin up. "Talk to me."

"Huh." He blinked. "Yeah, all right. You mind putting the kettle on? I need to change into something a bit—" he plucked ruefully at what had once been his favourite shirt "—softer."

When she hesitated, he said, "Just give me a couple of minutes to get my head around it, all right? I'll tell you everything, I promise."

"Yes, you will," she said. She paused with one hand on the door. "Don't take too long, or I'll have to come and get you."

Alone in the bathroom, he lowered his hands and stared at his red and puffy nipples. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

* * * * *

The potion was simple enough. A modified painkiller he'd made so often that the complicated stirring pattern had become his favourite meditation exercise. Not that day, however. After four failed attempts and one melted cauldron, Severus couldn't fool himself any longer. He was beyond distracted.

He threw the ruined pot across the room, baring his teeth in satisfaction when it clanked and crashed into the others he'd already piled in the sink. Almost three months since he'd given into temptation, and Potter still hadn't come to him.

"Dunderhead." He stomped around the room, gathering another set of ingredients. "Oblivious fucking twat. Couldn't find his arse if someone handed it to him in an Order of Merlin box."

Eventually, though, he ran out of words and simply stood there, staring at the collection of oddments on his worktop. There wasn't a single potion in his extensive repertoire that could be made from that particular combination. He sighed and reached for his wand to put them away, wondering why the hell he always let Potter get to him.

For that matter... he stopped mid-swish, mid-thought, as an image of Potter from when he'd seen him at the Ministry the day before swam up from the depths of his memory. Potter had looked — tired? distanced? not quite himself? — Severus couldn't quite put his wand on it, but something was very wrong with Harry Potter.

* * * * *

"Not here," Harry said as Ron stopped outside the Diagon entrance to the Leaky. He swallowed down the bile that rose at the scent of steak and kidney pudding coming from the partly open door.

"But it's Wednesday. Steak and kidney pud day," Ron said, with a whine in his voice. "We always come here on steak and kidney pud day."

"Yeah, I know." Harry shrugged and pushed the toe of his boot into a crack in the pavement. Knowing Ron's love of sweets, he said, "I made treacle tart and jam roly-poly last night. With your mum's winkingberry jam."

Ron examined Harry and then nodded, dashing all hopes Harry had that Ron would remain his usual unobservant self. "All right, but you're going to have to give me an explanation along with lunch."

"Fine, but we're out of here now." Swallowing again, Harry grabbed Ron and Apparated them both before he could change his mind.

Once they were safely in his flat, Harry went straight to the kitchen and busied himself with making sandwiches for both of them. Eventually, though, everything was on the table, and there was nothing left to do except sit down and face Ron.

Ron, who was currently staring at the sandwich on Harry's plate and looking as if someone had just hit him over the head with a Bludger. "Buggering Bowtruckles, Harry, you're pregnant."

Glancing down, Harry realised that he'd put Branston pickle on his egg mayonnaise and burst out laughing. "Can't imagine what gave you that idea."

"With my family, I'm far too familiar with the depths of depravity," Ron gave a dramatic shudder, "to which pregnant people will sink."

"Mmmm... but it's so good." Licking his lips, Harry took a bite of his sandwich and made a point of relishing the odd combination of flavours.

"Give it a break," Ron said, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "If I'm going to lose my appetite, I'd rather it be from talking about whatever you did to get yourself in that state. Who'd you finally allow to do you, anyway?"

Harry waited until Ron started eating before he said, "Severus Snape."

To his shock, Ron put his sandwich down and rubbed his hands together in glee. "Brilliant!"

"What?"

"You'll have to tell George. He'll never believe it from me."

"George?"

"The pool, of course. All of those lovely Galleons are mine, all mine." Ron rubbed his hands together. "Can't wait to see Seamus's face. He thought I was smoking Flitterbloom."

"Ron!" Harry was about ready to strangle him and his stupid grin. How could he care more about that stupid betting pool than about his supposed best friend? Tamping down his glare as best he could, Harry put on his most innocent look; the one that always fooled Ron. "What the hell are you on about? Did you bet on my first shag?"

"Well, yeah. It's been going on for years, too. Topped it up every July 31st as well." Ron shook his head. "We were beginning to worry about you, you know. It can't be healthy for a bloke to wait as long as you did."

"Worry?" Sputtering, Harry dropped the attempt at innocent and went straight back to furious. "I'll give you _healthy_ , you fucking, miserable—"

"It was just a bit of fun."

"Fun!" Harry Summoned his wand from over by the fridge. "I'll show you fun. _Tarantallegra_."

Ron scrambled to his feet, knocking his chair over. " _P... Protego_!"

"I can take down that shield easy as blinking," Harry said. "You know I can." He made a Lockhart-esque show of aiming at Ron. " _Expelliarmus_."

The shield shivered under the disarming spell, and a few crooked lines marred its surface.

"Harry!" Ron's voice rose into a squeak on the last syllable, and he waved his wand frantically. "Come on. You know I can't curse back. Not with you... like that."

"Like what?" Harry narrowed his eyes at Ron. "Up the duff?"

Ron's nodded, his head bobbing up and down.

"Shagged by Snape?"

That time Ron's eyes widened with an almost comical amount of fear. "Whatever you say, mate."

Just like that Harry's anger drained away. He sprawled back into his seat and put his wand on the table. "Oh, sit back down. I'm not really going to hurt you."

"Yeah, sure." Not taking his eyes off Harry, Ron dispersed his shield and pulled another chair over.

They ate in silence after that. Occasionally, Harry would glance over at Ron and, as often as not, he'd meet Ron's gaze for a moment before they'd look down again. Eventually, all of the sandwiches were gone, along with half the roly-poly, and there was no choice but to talk to each other.

Ron, to Harry's surprise was the first one to speak up. "You'll need to tell Snape."

Picking up his fork, Harry poked at the crumbs on his plate. "He knows where I am," he said. "After all, it's not as if I'm supposed to know which bloke shagged me in the middle of that Muggle club, am I?"

"Middle of a—" Ron's jaw dropped open. "Merlin's saggy left tit. You don't do anything by halves, do you?"

His cheeks flaming, Harry shrugged. "Spur of the moment, really. Although I might have been a bit more careful if I'd known he wasn't a Muggle." He splayed a hand over his belly. "This wasn't in the plan."

Ron made a humming noise, rested his chin on his cupped hand, and contemplated Harry. "Snape posing as a random Muggle? Still counts as Snape, though, doesn't it?"

"You what?"

"Oh," Ron straightened up and waggled his hand as if to wave away a bad smell, "don't mind me. What we really need to work out is how you're going to get Snape on board with this. He needs to do his part in the suffering, after all."

"You're hopeless, you know that?" Cutting himself a generous piece of roly-poly, Harry began eating while Ron set out a strategy that was so elaborate, it was clearly doomed from the start.

* * * * *

St Mungo's Clinic for Expectant Witches and Wizards was the last place Severus had imagined he'd run into Potter. Of course, the inconsiderate idiot was with Granger, and given the paleness of her complexion, he'd bet Galleons to Gobstones that she'd had an _unfortunate accident_ as Severus's mother used to call it.

His lips twisting into a defensive sneer, Severus changed directions to ensure that his path would intersect Potter and Granger's.

"Snape!" Granger almost yelped his surname. She tugged on Potter's arm, forcing him to stop. "Look, Harry, it's Snape."

In those baggy clothes, Potter looked almost as bad as Granger, Severus thought.

Potter acknowledged him with a curt nod. To be contrary, Severus forced his expression into as pleasant lines as he could manage and said, "Potter, Granger. I hope you're both well."

"Well?" Potter appeared bemused. "As can be expected, I suppose."

Granger giggled and then clapped a hand over her mouth. She didn't resist as Potter dragged her off, merely turning around to give Severus an odd little wave and a completely incomprehensible gesture towards Potter.

The entire encounter disturbed Severus so much that he almost walked into the clinic rather than to the apothecary down the next corridor.

* * * * *

Sticky and sweaty, Harry lay in bed and tried to clear the bad taste out of his mouth. That dream had been nasty. Stupidly, arousingly, brain-meltingly, orgasmically nasty. He didn't remember all of it. Didn't want to, truth be told. Just that it involved Aunt Marge, Filch, Mrs Norris, and Ripper and ended with him waking up as he came in his pyjamas.

Reaching for his wand, he lifted the covers and cast a Cleansing Charm on himself. He rubbed his slowly growing belly and wondered whether pregnant women had to endure the same arousing horrors while they slept. Not that he was going to ask any of the women he knew about it. He'd already been subjected to more than enough stories about _their_ pregnancies.

With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He'd have breakfast and get himself sorted out before he decided what he was going to do with his day. Maybe he should have taken that desk job, after all, he thought, as he gathered a tub of plain yoghurt, a tin of pineapple in juice, a handful of almonds, and the container of hot sauce. The paperwork would have been mind-numbing, but at least he wouldn't have had to figure his days out for himself.

 _Enjoy it while you can_ , Molly had told him, and he was doing his best. He'd got almost another four months to go, though, and he thought he might go mad. He couldn't spend every minute of every day wanking.

Sitting down at the table, he began mixing his breakfast in a bowl. Maybe he should just go ahead and tell Snape. If nothing else, his reaction wouldn't be boring.

He shoved the bowl away. The red smears of hot sauce in the white yoghurt weren't quite unappealing, but they reminded him of the cherry vanilla blaze ice cream at Fortescue's. His stomach growled, his mouth watered, and he was standing up before he'd finished processing the thought.

"Fuck it," he said to the room. "I'm entitled to go out shopping."

Before he could change his mind, he wrapped himself in a bulky cloak that was too heavy for the weather outside and Disapparated.

* * * * *

Potter was pregnant. Severus sat at his solitary table in Penny's Pastries and scowled at the front-page article in the _Daily Prophet_ that blared the news that Potter was about to be an unwed father. The words kept repeating themselves in his brain, and that picture: Potter had obviously been distracted and unaware of the photographer's presence.

Unable to help himself, he stroked a finger over Potter's small but noticeable bump. Despite his desire to do so, he found it impossible to believe that the child wasn't his. He'd heard many rumours about Potter, most of them trumpeting his abysmally bad behaviour, but Severus would swear on his magic that Potter had been a virgin that night.

Severus's cock began to fill at the mere thought of having Potter beneath him. He took a sip of his bitter, black coffee and touched Potter's picture again.

Potter, in the photograph, faltered. His lips seemed to curve upwards into a lopsided smile. Then he ducked his head and went back to turning from the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies and back again. His cloak flared open each time, drawing attention to his stomach.

"We need to talk," Severus told the picture, "and I will brook no excuses or permit any further avoidance on your part."

Folding the paper and placing it to one side, he retrieved parchment and a self-inking quill from his pockets and began to write.

* * * * *

In the aftermath of the _Daily Prophet_ article, Harry had been bombarded with Howlers, offers of marriage, and baby gifts. He'd locked down his Floo and increased his wards. Owl Redirection charms forwarded his mail to Lavender's mail-handling service.

He was a prisoner in his own home, and he resented the hell out of the _Prophet_ for doing that to him. Unfortunately, his solicitor didn't offer him any hope at all for getting the reporters off his back. The article had been worded for maximum impact, but everything had been true.

Huffing, he shifted in his armchair, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He picked the top book off the stack that Hermione had brought for him. "What to Expect when a Wizard's Expecting?" He snorted and tossed it in the vague direction of the table.

"You missed," Hermione said, her concern for him written all over her face.

"What the fuck was I thinking, going out to Diagon at five and a half months pregnant?"

"That no one would notice?" She walked over the sofa, using her wand to direct a tray to land on the coffee table. "That you were entitled to a day out without someone escorting you and reminding you to disguise your stomach?"

Harry made a rude noise.

"You were lucky no one hexed you." With a series of prim flicks and swishes, she fixed mugs of tea for both of them, placed biscuits on a plate, and floated that and one of the mugs over to Harry.

He made a face at them, and she returned them to the tray.

She sighed, the baby kicked him, and he felt like an enormous lump of ingratitude.

"I'm going around the twist," he said, instead of apologising. "If I don't get out of here soon, I'll be the one hexing people."

"Merlin forfend," a familiar voice drawled.

Startled, Harry whipped his wand out and aimed it at the intruder.

"Do put it away, Potter." Snape glided into the room and settled himself in the armchair across from Harry.

Ron made apologetic faces from the doorway and gestured at Hermione.

"Would you look at the time," she said, putting her mug down on the table.

"I'm going to kill you both," Harry said. "Slowly and with malice aforethought. Don't think I won't."

"Of course you will." Hermione bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she said, "Just talk to him, all right? If he's not interested, come over to the Burrow."

Then the traitors left him alone with Snape.

* * * * *

Elbows on the chair arms, Severus steepled his fingers and placed them under his chin. He stared pointedly at Potter's stomach, the pregnancy more obvious with the waistband of his pyjama bottoms tucked beneath it and his dressing gown wide-open. Potter squirmed beneath his gaze and sat up straight, taking his feet off the table.

He raised his eyes slowly to Potter's face and asked, "Precisely when were you planning to tell me?"

Potter's jaw jutted out mulishly. "What makes you think it's yours?"

Snorting with derision, Severus said, "So, I was that good, was I?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"How many men have you fucked?" Severus said the last word deliberately, allowing himself to smile when Potter flinched appropriately.

"As many as I've wanted to." Potter got to his feet, far more gracefully than Severus had anticipated, given the way some of the women of his acquaintance had carried on during their pregnancies.

The door was behind Severus's chair. Potter couldn't leave the room without walking past him. When Potter was close enough, Severus reached out, caught his wrist, and yanked. Potter stumbled and lost his balance, falling across the chair arm and into Severus's lap.

"How many?" Severus was disturbed by how much the answer mattered to him.

"Let go." Potter struggled to get free of Severus and to sit up. His arse slid across Severus's cock, and Severus tightened his grip reflexively.

The vicious shock sent pain shooting down to Severus's fingertips and up to his shoulder, forcing him to release Potter's wrist. "What the hell?" He shoved Potter away and then had to grab him to prevent him from falling to the floor and hitting the coffee table on the way down.

Potter's eyes were wide. "That wasn't me," he said.

Severus looped his arms around Potter — merely in order to be able to rub at his injured arm, of course. "Perhaps our child disapproved of our method of communication."

His hand going to his belly and rubbing circles over it, Potter looked at Severus. "It's magical."

"A child of ours could hardly be anything else."

Before Potter could deny his claim a second time, Severus placed his hands on either side of Potter's face and kissed him.

* * * * *

When he'd first landed on top of Snape, Harry's cock had expressed immediate interest and he'd panicked, wanting to get away from him as soon as possible. But when Snape kissed him, Harry couldn't do anything but lean towards him, part his lips, and let his mouth be ravished.

His baby went from delivering painful kicks to Harry's insides to that same odd fluttering he did when Harry was wanking. He shifted in Snape's lap, making sure to drag his arse over Snape's cock and revelling in the clear indication of how much Snape wanted him.

He didn't think he'd ever been as turned on as he was in that moment, not even at the club. Pulling back from Snape, he said, "Fuck me."

"I don't think—"

"No," Harry said, placing his fingers on Snape's lips, "you shouldn't think. Not right now." Then he kissed Snape again and pulled one of Snape's hands to his cock, making sure that Snape touched his belly on the way down. He arched his back and rubbed against Snape's palm. "Right now, you should fuck me."

Even as Snape pressed against Harry's cock, he asked, "What about the baby?"

"Perfectly safe," Harry said. "The Healer says so. The books say so. Even Molly Weasley says so."

That apparently was all it took. Snape placed one arm around Harry's shoulders and another beneath his knees. With a painful sounding grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily.

"Hold on," Snape said, and as soon as Harry did as he was told, he stalked over to the door. Carrying him.

Harry thought he should probably say something, object to being treated like a damsel in distress, but instead he laid his head on Snape's shoulder, and began to lick, suck, and kiss the barely noticeable scars.

Once in the bedroom, he was laid on his bed and undressed with infinite care and gentleness and constant touches to his cock and his belly. Harry endured it for as long as he could before he had to change positions. He stilled Snape's hands, brought them to his mouth for a kiss, and then placed them on his belly. "Not like this."

"Tell me," Snape said.

"I need to be on my side." Harry rolled over, feeling awkward and ungainly.

Snape, however, didn't seem to care. He curled into position behind Harry, kissing his back, caressing his stomach, tugging lightly on his cock and bollocks. At Snape's encouragement, Harry raised one leg and rested his foot on Snape's thigh.

"Relax," Snape said, scraping uneven teeth against Harry's ear.

Just hearing that word spoken in that voice invoked a memory that caused goosebumps to prickle Harry's skin and sent arousal flooding through him. He pushed his arse backwards and said, "More."

This time there was no music except their breathing and occasional sounds and words of encouragement. Snape's fingers opened Harry gently and slowly. When he entered Harry, he kept a hand splayed across Harry's stomach, teasing the head of Harry's cock, driving him up and up.

Harry grasped his own cock, tugging and pulling, giving a twist and a flick of his foreskin when he reached the head. His hand bumped Snape's, again and again. Tingling spread up and out from his bollocks, and he striped his release over their hands and his own stomach.

His arse muscles squeezed around Snape's cock, and Snape moved his arm, reaching under Harry's bent leg and holding it up, holding onto him. He thrust into Harry, his rhythm ragged and lost, his breath gusting over Harry's ear, until he was clutching Harry even tighter and coming deep inside him.

* * * * *

Potter was sleeping, curled up in the bed next to him. Severus brushed a lock of hair out of Potter's eyes. Potter's eyelids fluttered, but he didn't wake up.

 _I'm cursed_ , Severus thought. Cursed to protect Potter, to spend his life hovering around Potter, watching over him.

He couldn't, however, rail against that fate. Not when Potter shifted closer in his sleep and rested his forehead against Severus's shoulder. Not when Potter was bearing their child.

Settling onto his back, Severus drew him closer. He'd make a life, a family with Potter, he decided. No matter what he had to do to ensure that happened.

* * * * *

Harry moved down Diagon Alley as quickly as he could manage at almost eight months pregnant, Snape's presence next to him frightening away supporters, hecklers, and reporters. At the door of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, Snape stopped him. His kiss was possessive and demanding, designed to show the world exactly who Harry and his child belonged to.

When they separated, Harry smiled up at him. "I'll wait inside for you then?"

"I shan't be too long," Snape said. "But I don't think we need another repeat of your last visit to Slug and Jiggers."

Just the thought of it made Harry feel a bit sick. He shook his head and placed a hand on his protruding stomach. Snape opened the door for him and waited until Harry was inside to close it and walk away.

As soon as he was out of sight, Harry moved into the shop. He waved at Angelina, who was on the till, and went into the backroom where George spent most of his days.

"There you are," George said, when he saw Harry. "I was beginning to think you'd go into labour before you collected."

"He's a bit protective," Harry said.

"A bit?" George rolled his eyes. "With the trail of hexes he's left behind the pair of you, that's like calling Voldemort a bit annoying."

Harry laughed and then had to clutch at his stomach as the baby kicked his kidneys. "Fuck, I'm ready for this to be over."

Pointing at a stool, George grinned at him. "Sit down, all right. I have no desire to have another tail growing out of my arse, no matter how much fun Angie had with it."

"I don't want to know."

"Huh." George gave him a curious look. "I'd have thought you'd be more adventurous than that."

"If you think I'm answering that question, you must believe I'm a complete idiot," Harry said, huffing as he got up onto the stool with George's assistance. "And don't answer that."

"Whatever you say." Pulling a ledger off the shelf above his head, George flipped it open and ran his finger down a column. "What was your wager then?"

"As if you've forgotten. You told me I was mental, remember?"

"Ah, yes, there it is. Harry Potter, one Galleon on Snape pretending to be a Muggle." He scratched at the scar tissue over his ruined ear. "I still don't know how you pulled that one off, mate."

"Some secrets are never meant to be revealed."

"Ron's going to do his nut when he finds out _you're_ the one collecting the pot. He's been after me day in and day out, trying to find out why he didn't win."

Harry winked at George as he reached for the jar filled with gleaming coins, most of them the gold of galleons. "That's what he gets for betting on my love life, mate."

"And is it?"

"Hmm? Is it what?"

"Love."

Harry smoothed a hand over his belly as the baby chose that moment to kick him again. "Love, lust, and everything in between, actually."


End file.
